The Cracks
by Little-Flower-SPN
Summary: Post-Swan Song AU inspired by Tumblr user Misswhizzy. Dean is ravaged by grief; all he wants is to see Sam again. He enlists the help of Cas to go back in time and witness moments of Sam's life, some that he may not have seen before. Grief, angst, and suicidal tenancies portrayed. Gen (no slash). Rated T, but may be changed to M depending on how the story progresses.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Characters and universe of Supernatural aren't mine. Quotations of the show aren't my words. Plot inspired by Misswhizzy on Tumblr. Be kind; I'm not new to writing, but this is my first SPN fanfic. Otherwise, enjoy!

That line, "time heals all wounds"?

It's bullshit.

He knew that already, of course. But it didn't stop him from being pissed at the phrase.

Though, admittedly, he was pissed at everything these days. He'd be pissed at the drive-thru kid before he even pulled up at the window, would mow into the girl almost before she could say anything. He could almost hear Sam beside him, saying, "_Dude, chill out. She's just a kid. You're projecting."_

Almost.

It was an unhealthy habit, he knew, imagining what Sam would be doing if he were here, what he would say. But it seemed to be a reflex, ingrained in him. It wasn't like he didn't do it _before_ Sam…fell. When he'd leave Sam back at whatever shitty motel they were at that week to get food, and he'd go off on someone for cutting him off in traffic…even back then he would have heard that bitch's voice in his head, saying _"Geez, Dean, they could have had a good reason."_

Some would say that it was only his conscience. They may be right. Sam _was_ always his conscience, always there to reel him back in when he got too caught up in the moment, whether on a hunt or at a bar hustling pool, with some sweaty lumberjack talkin smack about his baby. It would always be Sam to tell him, _"He's not worth it, take the money, let's get out of here."_

It's probably why they hunted so well together, Dean mused. They'd complemented each other.

Lisa didn't understand. She tried to, she tried damn hard. But how do you explain their life to someone on the outside? How do you explain, to someone who grew up with a home that to Dean, home was a _person_? How do you explain to someone that had family, friends and a life what it's like to have your family, friend and life fall into a pit with the Devil?

You can't. And Dean was never eloquent to begin with.

In the end it was Dean who'd called it quits. Sam's theory of an apple pie life didn't take into account grief so cavernous that it devoured everything it touched. He didn't want Lisa or Ben to get sucked into this hole that even he himself was afraid of.

So he'd just started to drive. It was easier. It was a cause he could get behind. He'd drive until he felt himself drift, sometimes longer, because damn it all, part of him _wanted_ to get t-boned by a semi. But it never happened, and he'd find a motel to crash in. He'd toss his duffel in a chair, shower if he felt like it, but more often than not, he'd just pass out on the bed closest to the door.

Because he always asked for a double, even now.

And in the morning, he'd start it all over again.

Right now, he was stuck in traffic, something he tried to avoid by taking back roads, but sometimes it was unavoidable. Even though he had nowhere to be, he hated rush hour, because if he wasn't able to focus on what exit he was taking or where he'd turn next, he'd start thinking about Sam. And with that came the pain he worked so hard to keep on lockdown. He couldn't handle it otherwise.

But no, now he was at a standstill, in a seemingly endless stretch of cars, and he was getting jittery. He could only keep shit at bay for so long.

_"It's okay, Dean. Everything's gonna to be okay."_

And there it was.

Dean hurled a few curses into the emptiness of his car. He hated this. He _hated_ this.

How had the kid done it, anyway? That's what got Dean. Sam had _Lucifer_ inside him, not just some demon, and he'd been able to trap him. How? Sam had Meg in him for a week, watched as she killed somebody, and been powerless. How had he trapped a friggin archangel?

Add that to the list of things Dean will never know.

It was only since Sam fell that Dean realized the enormity of what Sam had done. Now he couldn't get it out of his head. Because he _raised_ that kid, knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. When everything was happening, at the time, Dean really hadn't been thinking about what it was like for Sam, he was barely dealing with what it was like for _him_. But now…now Dean thought about it all the time.

_"I've got Demon blood in me, Dean! This disease pumping through my veins, and I can't ever rip it out or scrub it clean!"_

Dean had never understood how Sam felt about the demon blood. It seemed to affect him a lot more than Dean had realized. Dean had always seen what Yellow-Eyes did as something sick to do to a kid, but nothing to do with Sam himself. To Dean, Sam was just a victim of demonic manipulation, nothing more. But Sam had seen it as a flaw, a taint, as if it were his fault. And Dean didn't get that.

_"Do we even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal, from human?"_

Dean swallowed the acid he felt rise in his throat. During that fight, he was so _frickin_ scared. When Cas had showed up and told him that Sam was still using his powers, Dean had been pissed, sure, but more than that he was _terrified_. Terrified of what it meant, what would happen to Sam because of it.

But he now realized that Sam hadn't known that. Sam only saw rage, and heard Dean's words as they cut through him like a knife.

Because Dean always knew how to hurt the kid, even if he didn't do it himself most of the time, he knew Sam's pressure points. And he knew in that fight he had crossed a line. But he had needed to get through to Sam, get him to listen, and to do that Dean had to cut a little deep. Right?

Dean didn't know anymore.

Because looking back, his actions probably helped push Sam further into Ruby's arms.

Ruby. Dean resisted the urge to punch a hole through his window at the thought of her. Manipulative demon bitch.

That was one thing Dean saw clearly now, now that he'd had time to think. He knew now that what happened…it wasn't Sam's fault. And he hated every minute that he had blamed Sam while he was alive.

How long had Dean lasted, after Sam had died at Cold Oak? A day, two? And Dean remembered the pain that drove him to run into the arms of a demon himself. It had taken only two days for Dean to sell his soul, because he couldn't take it anymore. Why the hell hadn't Dean remembered this when he'd jumped down Sam's throat about Ruby? Sam had _four whole months_ without him. He knew now, they were screwed up when the other was gone, and they did stupid things.

He hated himself for spending so much time pissed at Sam. So much time that he now would never get back. And now...

Suddenly, it came to him.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Quick chapter update due to it being finals week, and what better way to procrastinate than to write fanfic? XD Thanks so much for the follows and review! FYI, reviews mean the story continues, because I'm not going to post something no one wants to read, so don't be shy. Have fun with the angst; I know I did.

A/N#2: I see every one of your lovely reviews, I will update as soon as my finals end (May 14). After that I can write again and I won't be away for so long :) Hang in there!

His gun felt heavier than he remembered. He turned it over in his hand, seeing it glint from the pale light making its way through the motel blinds.

When he planned this, he planned it as a bluff, but now that he had it in his hand, his emotions coursing through him, he actually wondered if he should just _do_ it, vaguely aware of his new impulsivity and knew that he should have more self control than this.

Just another thing that fell into the pit.

"Cas," Dean started. His voice sounded like gravel. I guess he hadn't had much cause to use it these days. He cleared his throat.

"Cas," he began again. "Listen buddy, ah...I know you have a holy civil war or something on your plate right now...and since you left me in that friggin _graveyard_ you haven't-"

He took a breath and closed his eyes. This was not the time to get pissed. It wouldn't make Cas come.

_This_ would.

"Look, if you could come down here, that'd be awesome, 'cause uh..."

His gun was heavier than he remembered.

"I'm about to stick a gun in my mouth."

_"Dean."_

Is it a sin to manipulate an angel like that?

Cas looked like shit. He felt a pang of something like guilt as he took in the disheveled hair, the wrinkled trench coat, the tension in his face.

"Dean, what's going on?" Cas' monotone was punctuated by urgency.

"Cas…" Dean began. Was this stupid? He's not sure he really cares anymore. He has to try.

"I don't think I'm going to shoot myself today Cas, you can unruffle your wings."

Cas didn't move.

"Geez man, will you sit down? I need to talk to you."

Cas continued to stare at him. "I don't understand."

"Will you just sit down?"

Cas slowly approached the bed Dean was sitting opposite from and lowered himself onto it.

"Cas, I'm sorry, I really am, I just…I really needed you here, man, I really needed to talk to you."

Cas blinked back at him, and nodded.

"So, uh…" Dean shoved his hand through his hair, then brought it down to rub his eyes. "I'm not doin so hot. I was just ah…"

This was harder than he thought it would be.

"I need you to do me a favor."

Cas nodded again. Man, sometimes he wished he could turn those eyes _off_. It's like they're staring into his friggin _soul_.

Wait, can they?

Dean shifted uncomfortably.

"Can you see Sam? Can you see into the pit? Do you have, I don't know, celestial binoculars or something?"

Cas quirked his head. "I cannot see in the pit, no."

"Because I just…" He hated this. He hated every _frickin_ moment. "I can't stand, I mean it isn't like he's passed out in a pine box under a slab of concrete, you know? I think I could handle it if…"

He trailed off.

He _hated_ this.

"But that's not really what I wanted to ask you, that was just me ah...I mean, alright, can you see into Sam's head?"

"See into his-"

"His _thoughts_, Cas. His _memories_. You can zap people places, right? You flung me back to the 60's to see my parents."

If that was pity in Cas' face, he knew he'd reached a whole new level of desperate, but he had to know.

"Dean, I don't think you'd want that."

_Wham. _

"But no, I can't see his thoughts at this moment. Thoughts are not something that can be seen, though perhaps I understand what you are trying to say."

Dean swallowed.

"You miss him."

For a fraction of a second, Dean thought he had let go of the reins keeping his emotions in check, jerking his head away and clenching his jaw. He didn't think what he felt could be summed up in a pansy ass word like "_miss_." It was like he couldn't _breathe._

"Cas, I just need to see him. Even if it isn't really him, even if it's a memory, or not from now, I just.."

"…need to see him." Cas finished, when Dean's voice seemed to die in his throat.

Dean jerked his head.

"What do you want me to do?"

0-0-0-0-0-SPN-0-0-0-0-0

The motel room was getting steadily darker as the sun crept towards the trees Dean could see out the dingy window.

"Dean," Cas' voice was soft. It made Dean look up.

"I...don't know much about human grief." He wasn't looking at Dean, he was looking out the window as Dean had been moments before. His voice had the same quality, Dean realized, as when they sat on that park bench years before, when Cas spoke of doubt, and of humanity.

Cas turned to look at Dean.

"Are you sure that this is something you should do?"

Dean didn't say anything. Because he didn't know. He just knew he didn't know what else_ to_ do.

Apparently his expression communicated this, because Cas nodded.

"Will..." Dean cleared his throat. "Will he be able to see me?"

"Not if you don't want him to."

"Will you be watching us?"

Cas gave Dean the slightest of smiles. "Not if you don't want me to."

In that moment, Dean had a very un-Dean-like urge to bear hug this rumpled angel sitting before him.

"Are you-" Dean began, washing a hand over his face, "I mean, I know a lot of crap must be goin on back home. You got time for this?"

Cas paused, his expression serious. He nodded.

"You are my friend, Dean."

As if by reflex, Dean rose and grabbed Cas in a fierce hug, his fingers clenching the wrinkled trench coat. He hoped that this communicated how much this meant to him, because his throat was closed for business, and he didn't know if angels were fluent in human body language anyway. He hoped this was enough.

Apparently, it was, because after a moment, he felt a hesitant hand pat the back of his jacket. Dean let go.

"Is there a particular moment you wish to visit?"

Dean swallowed.

"I want to see the times I wasn't there. I wanna...I wanna fill in the cracks."

Cas nodded.

"Are you ready?"

Dean could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He curled his hands into fists, steeling himself.

"Take me to him."

Cas lay two fingers on Dean's forehead.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Okay, REALLY LONG OVERDUE I know. And the reason is because the writer in me has an idea for this scene and it just...it isn't happening. My muse has me writing other chapters that wouldn't work for the first memory. So that you guys at least have _something_, I'll give you the first part of this chapter, and don't hate me if it isn't as good as the first two, like I said, my muse is _not_ cooperating.

A/N #2: Second part has been added to this, and the whole thing has been edited somewhat.

* * *

It only took a few seconds after Dean opened his eyes to orient himself as to where they were. He'd been here before.

Well, not really, but he'd _seen_ it before, at least.

It was the cabin in Flagstaff. The one he'd seen in Sam's heaven.

Mentally preparing himself for what he was about to see – Sam, _young_ Sam – he heard the door open.

A rust colored animal bounded in, lumbering past his knees, and in followed…

_Sammy._

Man, he forgot how _tiny_ the kid used to be. He was used to dealing with the lumbering, 6'4" version of Sam, not the shrimp of a kid that ran past him after the dog. What had Sam called it again?

"Bones, stop it!" Young-Sam squeaked.

_Bones._ Right.

Dean didn't know what to feel. He guessed this was their first real time apart, more than a day or two anyway. But this wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he told Cas – hey, where was Cas anyway? He looked around.

Right. Privacy.

Anyway, this wasn't exactly what Dean hoped for. Seeing what Sam described as a happy memory when he remembered what it felt like for _him_ back then – running every red light in the Impala, shouting out the window like a lunatic, having a full-blown panic attack behind the wheel and praying to _God_ that he found Sam before their dad came home and tore him a new one – wasn't on present-Dean's bucket list.

Young-Sam practically rode Bones back into the living room Dean was standing in, barely holding onto the dog's collar as it dragged Sam along with him, giggling madly. In spite of himself, Dean smiled. Man, when that kid was happy, that laugh of his would light up Dean's world.

Still does.

Dean realized that young-Sam had a grocery bag slung over his arm as the kid heaved it onto the wooden coffee table. The dog had stopped, was sitting at attention as young-Sam rooted around the bag, plastic crinkling as Sam pulled out -

"I got you some treats, okay? Here."

Sam tore open a packet and dispensed a few treats into his hand, and lowered it to the animal. Bones licked them up eagerly, and the evident saliva on Sammy's hand made Dean's face contort in disgust.

Dean could never understand Sam's love for dogs. _Eugh._

Sam continued to empty the bag, and Dean's confusion as to how Sam had bought this stuff - he knew his brother, stealing from a store was out of the question - was cleared up when he saw Sam place a red credit card on the table beside him.

Steal Dean's credit card. Yeah, _that_ was something Sammy would do.

Surveying the table, soda and candy seemed to be on the menu, but Sam had also remembered some essentials like bread and…salt.

Seeing the salt made Dean's eyes burn unexpectedly, and he swelled with pride as he saw Sam proceed to make salt lines in front of the entrances like he taught him to.

"Now don't lick these up, okay? They're important."

Young-Sam plopped down on the couch and began absentmindedly scratching the dog under its ears, looking around like a king in his palace, like this was all he ever would need.

And it hurt.

Because even though he knew that Sam was just a kid and wasn't really thinking beyond his immediate desires, the thought that Sam felt the need to escape their life – escape _him_ – stung.

Sam seemed to be lost in thought for a while, the dog now sitting at attention next to Sam, evidently hoping for another treat. After a while, Sam seemed to notice the dog again and chuckled to himself.

"Sorry buddy, I was just...thinking, I guess."

There was a pause as Sam shifted on the couch from a sitting position to one of laying down. Now Sam and the dog were pretty much nose to nose, and then Sam asked a question that made evident what was on his mind:

"Bones, do you have any family?"

Bones blinked up at him.

"I do. Mine is pretty small though. I have a dad and a brother. I used to have a mom, but she died, so we're not supposed to talk about her."

Bones rested his chin on the edge on the sofa.

"And I didn't know her, I don't remember her, you know? And I just want to know what she was like. I bet she was nice."

Bones scooted his snout forward and began attempting to lick Sam's lips, but apparently, this was where Sam drew the line of dog intimacy, because he began sputtering and laughing as he playfully shoved the dog's snout away.

"Hey, stop that!"

Bones stopped, resuming his couch-side vigil as Sam began talking again. It's funny, it looked like it was really listening, looking up at Sam and everything.

"And I bet if she were here, we wouldn't live in different places all the time, we would have a _home._ And maybe she would even cook sometimes! Bones, when I grow up, I'm not going to move around...I'm going to get married someday, and I'm going to not have to kill anything anymore, not even flies around the house. And if we have kids, I won't give them guns, ever. I'll let them go to school and not take them out because we have to leave town, they'll be able to have _friends..._"

And in a moment of clarity, Dean suddenly seemed to understand a little part of Sam that he hadn't before. And it's something so small, something that other people wouldn't give much thought to, but now that Sam was gone, Dean clung to this new piece of Sam with all his might.

Sam liked dogs because they _listened_ to him.

Because all his life, Sam had been talked to, told what to do and how to do it, told about how life was and told about what his life was supposed to be. And Dean thought Sam's distaste for being bossed around was just his stubborn streak, and while that may be part of it - Sam's a Winchester, stubbornness comes with the territory - it was something else too.

He just wanted to be listened to.

Dean couldn't listen any more, and quickly walked into the other room of the cabin, squeezing his eyes shut as he leaned against the wall.

"Sammy..." Dean whispered. "I'm so...I would have given _anything_..."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he didn't flinch because he'd heard the faint rustling sound of angel wings.

"Do you want to go back?"

Yes, he did. Back to when their problems were only as big as a pissed off dad or a runaway kid.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, Cas. Let's go."

And with another rustle of wings, the room was empty.


End file.
